


Gathering Storm, September 1976

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Bombers, Bombings, Bombs, Child Death, Corrupt Cops, Corrupt Police Officers, Corruption, Detectives, Extramarital Affairs, Gen, Grief, Heatwaves, Insanity, Madness, Manhattan South, Mariticide, Molotov Cocktails, NYPD, New York City, Stakeouts, Summer of 1976, bereavement, homicides, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Kojak’s thoughts concerning the events that occurred in the Season 4 episode 'A Summer Madness' with a few changes and bits added.This is an original story set in September 1976.Feedback welcome.





	Gathering Storm, September 1976

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> Spoilers: Major spoilers for the season 4 episode 'A Summer Madness'.
> 
> Original characters: None
> 
> Enjoy!

I sat in the small hospital day room across from Molly Braddock. A doctor and a woman police officer were also present. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d last seen her and she was happily chatting to me as if we were old friends meeting for coffee. I asked her about Jeff, but she only wanted to talk about her son Robbie; how well he was doing at school, how tall he was getting, and the new puppy she’d bought for him which was currently asleep in her arms. It had been a surprise for his birthday she told me. I indulged her, but continued to press gently and gradually she opened up and began to talk. She smiled as she told me why she'd killed Gretchen Hodges.

“He asked me when I’d found out about her,” she began. “I told him he could have had ANYONE, but I only had HIM.” She paused and kissed the puppy. “He asked me why I hadn’t killed HIM instead. I said because I only HAVE you.” 

She said Jeff had then got angry and told her he’d killed an innocent man because he’d believed HE was responsible for killing Gretchen Hodges, and seventeen other people would carry the scars from what they’d done to one another for the rest of their lives.

“I told him I didn’t want to talk about all that. He started going on about the car keys, but I didn’t want to talk about THAT either…” Molly continued, looking out of the window and smiling at a squirrel as it scampered up and down a nearby tree. Jeff had then apparently told her their marriage was over, and realising she'd lost him had taken his service revolver out of the drawer in the living room and killed him. 

“We were going out that night, you remember Theo?" she reminded me. I told her I remembered. "Jeff was exhausted, and had decided to have a long soak in the bath," she added. I remembered THAT too. In fact I still had nightmares about it. Crocker too. 

I gently kissed her on the forehead and took my leave.

Two weeks earlier

The summer heat had been relentless but now as we reached September there was a feeling of pressure in the air, as if a great storm was gathering. For weeks the temperature had barely dropped below a hundred degrees; even at night, and tempers were flaring far and wide. It would only take one spark I thought and there would be an explosion. It was like living in a giant pressure cooker with no release valve.

****

I pulled up outside Jeff Braddock’s apartment building at 2149 Walker expecting him to be outside on the sidewalk, but there was no sign of him. I waited for a while, but after ten minutes I finally gave in and, climbing out of my nice air-conditioned car reluctantly went up to his apartment. We’d been on a big case, working all hours; night and day, perhaps he’d over-slept.

I’d not been to the apartment for a while, not since before his son Robbie had died. He’d been a great kid, the apple of his parents’ eye and had died as a result of a tragic accident, and despite his best attempts at remaining cheerful and optimistic at work, Jeff hadn’t been the same since; I couldn’t expect him to be.

I arrived outside the small apartment and knocked on the door. It was opened by Jeff himself who immediately invited me inside. He was just putting on his tie, supporting my theory that he’d overslept. I walked through the kitchen to the living room and spotted his wife Molly sitting on a chair next to the window. She looked up and greeted me with a smile. I couldn’t believe the change in her. She’d always taken such great pride in her appearance, yet now here she was hair un-brushed, no make-up on, and a lot thinner than I remembered.

“Topper died.” She informed me sadly looking at the basket on the floor next to her chair where their dog was curled up.

“Oh I’m sorry.” I replied. 

“We bought him for Robbie.” She reminded me. 

“I know; he was a ‘personality pooch’. I really liked him.” I told her. Jeff finished getting dressed and we started to leave. I looked back, “Look, I’ll call the ASPCA alright, have him picked up.” I offered. Molly stood up.

“He’s not garbage… he’ll have a funeral.” She told me crossly. I took my glasses off.

“Oh I’m sorry Molly, of course. You know there are some great pet cemeteries out in Queens.”

“Do they have trees?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, and flowers and grass and like that.” Jeff was standing impatiently by the door.

“Topper would like that; Robbie liked grass too.” She informed me. I looked long and hard at Molly before turning towards the door. 

“Theo?” she called me back. “Do you remember Robbie?” she asked.

“He was a fine boy.” I replied, which was true.

“He died too.” She told me, her voice was dead, emotionless. Jeff quickly walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Reluctantly I followed. I wish I’d had more time to chat with Molly as I could see something was very wrong with her. She must be so lonely I thought. Jeff had his work and the guys for company, but Molly was on her own in that pokey apartment with just her memories for company. Perhaps when the case was over I’d have time for a proper visit. 

****

Outside on the street Jeff was walking quickly toward the car. I ran up behind him and told him to slow down. He looked at me and shook his head.

“The SON, the DOG; everything she loves dies.” He told me angrily. I looked at him. “I don’t know,” he continued. “Maybe if she went out and got some AIR.” He shook his head again. “Who knows what it’ll take to snap her out of it.”

“How about time,” I suggested.

“My wife, my son; HE’S dead and SHE’S alive and I can hardly tell the difference. I did it to both of them!” 

“What kind of self-pity is that?” I asked, silently admiring, not for the first time, those police officers like Saperstein and Frank who somehow managed to successfully juggle both a career and a family life.

“Theo, it was an ACCIDENT! I was only careless the way millions of parents are careless round their kids every day!” He leant back against the car and sighed, “But HE’S still dead and SHE’S been dying ever since. I always kept that locker shut and locked, except for ONE afternoon: My son and a can of benzene…”

“Well, if you’re expecting words of wisdom from the 'Sage of Sparta' don’t hold your breath.” I replied, “but I DO know this: you read a book one page at a time, why don’t you take life the same way; one day at a time.” Small consolation I knew, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I really hoped that once this big case of ours was over Jeff and Molly would be able to go away somewhere together; mend some bridges.

“The 'Oracle of Athens' has spoken.” Braddock teased.

“You know I had an uncle who used to say ‘charity is knowing how to forgive others; wisdom is knowing how to forgive yourself’,” I remarked. We got into the car and headed off to meet Crocker who was on stake-out duty near a freight depot down town.

****

As soon as he saw us approaching my detective got out of his car and walked over to meet us. He was looking hot and miserable and wiping his neck with his handkerchief.

“Hot enough for you Crocker?” I teased.

“Are YOU kidding? I think this lead is a dead end!" He replied crossly. We looked over at a red and white Three-Star Trucking Company vehicle that had just pulled up, another vehicle was already being unloaded.

“What do YOU say Braddock?” I asked. The stake-out had been in place for three days, but so far we’d got nothing. Jeff was adamant that the information he’d been given by his stoolie was correct. I told him we’d give it a couple more days and told Crocker to keep cool. Leaving Braddock with my detective I climbed back in the car and headed back to the precinct.

****

I was sitting at my desk talking on phone, drinking a cup of coffee – at least I think it was coffee, when Captain McNeil ran into the room with blue incident report sheet in his hand. There had been a fire-bombing in a bar on 11th Street, near 6th Avenue; a bad one. Frank ran back out of the room. I ended my phone call, grabbed my hat and coat and followed.

Less than ten minutes later we arrived outside Rumpelstiltskins. Stavros was already at the scene along with a several ambulances and fire trucks. The place was a mess; broken glass everywhere, burning woodwork... People were lying in the street, sitting in chairs, standing round looking dazed. I also spotted a film crew from a local TV news station. The most seriously injured were lying on stretchers being attended to by medics before being taken to the hospital. I pulled up behind an ambulance. Frank got out and began surveying the scene. 

Stavros came over and gave us his report. There wasn’t much to go on, he said, but one of the injured was the beat officer, John Dolan. According to witnesses a car had raced by and the driver had tossed the bomb through the bar window. There were seventeen casualties, ranging from critical right down to walking wounded.

Frank asked if there were any dead. Stavros replied that so far the only fatality had been the bartender. He also reported that someone in the bar must have had an enemy as the Fire Department had found the remains of the bomb: a 'Molotov cocktail'.

I asked if there had been any witnesses. Stavros replied that as usual there were too many, but he directed my attention to a man seated by the window being attended to by a medic and said he was the bar's owner, Arnie Geld.

“Want to go inside and check the impact?” Frank asked Stavros. They headed off. I walked past a young woman lying on a stretcher and over to Mr Geld who was having a bandage applied to his left arm. Another fire truck arrived, its siren blaring.

“I’m Lt Kojak, can you talk?” I asked.

“At least I’m alive,” he replied. Nearby a fire crew was removing a large hose and inspecting the storey above us for damage. 

“Did you see the bomb go in?” I asked.

“Man, I heard the windows go! Something told me ‘Arnie, get down’. It was like ’44 again! First you drop to the ground, and then you get time to ask ‘was it a grenade?’ 

“Where were you when the bomb went in?” I asked.

“Over there,” he indicated with his head. “I'd just gone back inside when I heard the windows go. All of a sudden people are crying, bleeding, and my bar tender aint movin’...”

I asked him if he had any problems, any bothers. He told me no, he slept good at night. I asked if anyone was trying to ‘move in’. He told me that he and the local ‘muscle’ got along, and he hadn’t fired any staff lately, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had because there were a lot of bars in the vicinity and the staff were always working in one place or another. He’d fire someone, they’d get a job across the street, and someone from across the street would get 'canned' and come and work for HIM; that’s how it was, never any hard feelings. Stavros arrived back outside and stood on Geld’s other side.

“You said you'd just gone back inside when it went off?” I reminded him.

“An old Army drunk; wanted to sing ‘Lili Marlene’ all day. I'd escorted him to the street.”

I ordered Stavros to take Mr Geld to the precinct and have the artist draw a sketch of the man he threw out of the bar just before the bomb went off. He didn’t think he would be able to describe him, and began to protest.

“Sure you can Mr Geld, you remember; Army Target Identification, 1944.” I reminded him, remembering my OWN time in the Army. The medic finished and picking up his bag helped Geld to his feet. Stavros helped him down the street to the car. I walked away, passing a young curly-haired woman who was sitting on a chair having a cut on her head seen to. I joined Frank who was standing by my car. He informed me there had been two more fatalities.

“Don’t wait for me; I’ll see you back at the office.” I told him. "I'm gonna head over to the hospital." 

At that moment a cab pulled up and Jeff Braddock got out and walked over. He was looking very concerned, shocked even, but weren’t we all. Thinking he and Crocker had heard about the bombing on the radio and that he’d come across town to assist I told him to pick up a broom.

“I heard the sirens. How badly are they hurt?” he asked.

“Three dead, seventeen at Bellevue,” I told him. He offered to check for witnesses, but I told him Stavros would take care of that and suggested he come with me to the hospital. 

****

An hour later we were standing in a treatment room at Bellevue talking with a Dr Winkler. On the table in front of us was a collection of personal items. He was reading from a clipboard,

“We’ve got five positive IDs." he began, "two males; Patrol Officer John Dolan from Queens, and Frank Belknap, aged about forty, black; his brother in law’s a state assemblyman,” he handed me the clipboard, “and five women,” he continued. “Mrs Jodie Krupp, Caucasian aged fifty, Ms Harriet Victor in her early twenties, Ms Kay Neeley in her late forties and two Jane Does.” I passed the clip board over my shoulder to Braddock and looked at the items on the table.

“Were there any identifiable items on the Jane Does?” Braddock asked.

“One of them is elderly, black, and was carrying a velvet handbag with a brass chain handle. The other one must have been closest to the explosion, she was younger, I’d say mid-twenties, was probably attractive, and… that’s all we can tell. She DID have some expensive cosmetics in what we found of her handbag, also some pills; uppers and downers, and this on one wrist.” He handed me a bracelet made up of multiple strings of pearls. “Looks expensive,” he commented. I agreed. 

“Can we question her?” I asked.

“She never regained consciousness. I'm sorry.” the doctor replied. I handed the bracelet to Braddock and asked him to see where it led.

****

The following day I was in the squad room with the men, handing out copies of a sketch of the drunk who’d been thrown out of the bar before it blew up. A few minutes earlier we’d all been laughing as word had reached us from Central that Braddock had just called in to report his car had been stolen and he'd had to go down town to make a report. Once everyone had calmed down, I began to pace the room,

“OK, this is a likeness of the drunk who was thrown out of Rumplestiltskin before it went up. He might be able to provide us with a description of the car and the driver, so, check him out. I also want a follow-up story on everyone who was in the lounge. The lab says it was benzene; that was the inflammatory material. Hey look; it’s not very much but we gotta get started, before that sun starts beating down on some of these knuckleheads and we get a ‘follow the leader’ epidemic. So we check the hotels and restaurants and paint stores and stoolies, and like that. We’re looking for a needle in a haystack; the haystack? The city of New York, that ‘Big Apple’ out there, and we’d better find that needle before we start reading about ‘Kaboom! Look Ma I made the newspapers!’ and start ANOTHER epidemic. Go ahead.” I walked into my office. A few moments later I heard Crocker teasing Braddock who'd obviously just arrived. 

“Hey Braddock: late again? Go see the Principal!”

“My car was stolen!”

“Yeah, key in the ignition, windows down…” I heard Saperstein retort. I walked back out into the squad room and told the men to get on with their investigating. 

I walked over to where Braddock was standing. 

“How’s Molly?” I asked as I lit a cigarillo.

“Fine.” He replied curtly.

“So you got something on the bracelet right?” I asked.

“Maybe: I checked the shops over on 47th. I found a jeweller who’d made a bracelet just like it for a Gretchen Hodges.” I smiled and said I’d drive us there. Braddock suggested that HE could go check it out and call it in... 

“Or they could tell me in person!” I informed him. Clearly he’d forgotten he didn’t have a car.

****

The jeweller had kept excellent records and had been able to provide us with Gretchen Hodges’ address; 215 East 68th Street. Braddock and I drove straight there and met with the doorman and the daytime security guard. 

“Gee it’s such a shocker.” He said, “I mean she lived here bouncing along. That’s how she was; like quicksilver. One minute she was all smiles, and then suddenly she didn’t even know your name.” 

“Do you know anything about her friends, or where she worked?” I asked. 

“She was a photographer, what they call freelance. A beautiful kid, so naturally there were a LOT of guys.” The guard informed me.

“I don’t suppose any of them left names?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh you know… some of them came… thank you ma’am, then left.” Looking at me to make sure I understood what he was getting at. Unfortunately, I did. “The others came round at night and left who knows when." 

" There was this ONE guy," the doorman added, "Caesar... I don’t know his last name, but he was here yesterday and that was a real magillah. He’d been a regular, and then he took off for three or four months. He turned up around ten, but she wouldn’t even talk to him on the lobby phone. He waited and grabbed her out front and started slapping her around, threatened to kill her and her new boyfriend." 

“And who’s her new boyfriend?” I asked.

“We never saw him," the security guard replied, "but you can get in touch with Ed Strakey; he’s NIGHT security.” He wrote a telephone number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. Braddock went to grab it and told me he’d take care of it. I told him Crocker would handle it. I looked back at the security guard and asked what this Caesar looked like.

“He’s big, six-two, six-three. English, with a heavy accent,” the doorman replied.

“Age?” I asked.

“Thirty: more or less.”

“I’d like to see the young lady’s apartment now, OK?” I demanded. The guard opened the door and led us inside.

****

Ms Hodges’ apartment was everything I expected a high-class hooker’s place to be; beautifully and tastefully decorated with expensive ornaments and works of art scattered throughout. I sent Jeff to check out the bedroom, while I walked through the living room

“See if you can come up with an address book, telephone numbers, dirty pictures…” I called out after him. I sat at a table by the window and put the room key down. In front of me there was a telephone and a holiday magazine. There was also a potted plant and an ashtray. I looked out of the window. The view was stunning. Ms Hodges has clearly done well for herself. Covering my hand with my handkerchief I picked up the phone and called Crocker at the precinct. 

“Detective Crocker…” the voice spoke into my ear.

“Yeah, Crocker, take this down. That fire-bombing; we’re looking for an Englishman, about thirty, first name Caesar, six-two, heavy accent. He threatened to kill one of the victims about a half hour before she took a cab to Rumplestiltskins. Check with immigration, BCI, Narco and Vice. Oh, and if Mr Caesar turns on any tilt signs then check the night security guard, name of Ed Strakey, telephone number 2279995.” I ended my call, got up and headed to the bedroom, Braddock was just finishing up and was closing a drawer, he handed me some photographs. I looked at them.

“No address book; nothing like that?” I asked. He said there wasn’t and wiped his face. “It’s too hot to go looking for this bum.” I decided.

“She might have had her address book on her.” He suggested. We looked at one another. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the small pill container that had been with Ms Hodge' personal effects and opened it. 

“The ‘reds’ weren’t enough for THIS kid; Miss Hodges was a ‘little snowbird’.” I sniffed the contents. “No pain with the cocaine!” We locked the apartment up behind us and headed back outside. I stopped to have a final word with the security guard.

“There were a LOT of guys going up there.” He commented.

“Did Miss Hodges have a maid?” I asked.

“Yeah, there's a lady, comes in three times a week, she ‘does’ a few of the apartments.” 

“Why don’t you check that?” I told Jeff. He turned and began to walk away.

“Jeff?” I called out. He looked back, “Don’t you want the address?” I asked. The security guard wrote the maid’s address on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

“Pearl Johnson, Number 16 10th Avenue.” I looked with concern at Braddock. He looked worn out. The hot weather was taking its toll on ALL of us, this case wasn’t helping, and he had Molly to contend with as well.

“Is everything alright at home?” I asked.

“Whatever THAT means…” He snarled before turning and walking away.

****

The following morning I met up with Frank at the precinct. 

“I’m telling you Theo, the Press hawks are circling; one of the victims was the brother in law of a state assemblyman. Albany isn’t wondering HOW we’ll break the case; they just want to know how SOON.” We stopped walking.

“Alright, so WHAT have we got?” I asked. “This Gretchen Hodges: party-goer, liberal lover, mod friends… And nine of the seventeen victims are from out west. The assemblyman’s brother in law is being checked out by Saperstein and like that. We’ve got nothing on this guy Caesar; Crocker’s checking that. So a bomb goes off in a gin mill in New York in the afternoon; it’s like checking out the phone book!” I lit a cigarillo and we resumed walking, parting company only when we reached the top of the stairs.

****

I walked into the squad room Stavros was on the phone. He called me over; it was Crocker on the line. He’d spoken to Strakey the night security guard at Gretchen Hodges’ building. There had been a guy paying her visits for the past three months or so, always at night. I asked him if he’d been able to get a description, but apart from the man being about his height, size and colouring there wasn’t much to go on. I told him to speak to the other tenants; maybe one of them had managed to get a good look at our ‘man of mystery’. 

I ended the call and put phone down. Stavros was staring into space tapping his nose with a pencil. I waved my hand in front of his face and asked him if he was studying for a day-dreaming contest. He continued to look thoughtful and began to chew the end of the pencil.

“Gretchen Hodges…” he began, “I think I’ve heard that name before, ever since Crocker called me on it.” I asked where, but he didn’t know for sure, he only THOUGHT he’d heard the name. I told him to carry on thinking and headed to my office.

****

The following morning I decided to go over to CIB. Crocker had sent Rizzo over there to continue our search through their records for anyone called Caesar. 

“None of these looks like a possibility,” he informed me as we looked at some file cards, “these two are deceased, and this one’s in South America.” we continued searching and then finally we hit pay dirt.

“Oh yeah!” I exclaimed, “Caesar Ogilvy, convicted junkie, served a four-month sentence and discharged six weeks ago with parole, plays piano...” I handed Rizzo Ogilvy’s card and told him to call the local American Federation of Musicians and to see if ‘Fingers’ was 'gigging' anywhere in town. Rizzo began to walk away. I asked him if he’d heard from Braddock. He replied that he hadn’t.

No one else had either.

****

Later I was in the squad room getting some coffee. Rizzo was talking on the phone with someone from the AFM. He ended his call and walked across the room and handed me a piece of paper with the name of a posh club up town.

“This guy’s gotta be pretty good you know.” Rizzo informed me. I indicated with my head that he should come along. He grabbed his jacket and we headed up town.

****

We arrived at the club and walked into the bar. I asked for Caesar Ogilvy and was told by the barman that he was taking a break out back. We were about half way across the room when the sound of a shot rang out. Running out of the fire door we arrived to see a man I assumed was Ogilvy lying on the ground. Jeff Braddock was standing over him with his gun in his hand. I crouched down and felt for a pulse. There was none.

“He’s dead.” I said.

****

To say I was livid would be an understatement. Back at precinct I was in the squad room with Rizzo, Crocker and the captain. Braddock was sitting at a desk staring at the floor. Frank was pacing. I was sitting on the desk next to Jeff trying to make sense of everything. Crocker and Rizzo were standing over by the holding cage.

“If you had reason to believe that Ogilvy was a prime suspect why didn’t you call in for a back-up?” I demanded to know.

“I wanted to bring him in for questioning, but he went for my gun.” Jeff replied. I reminded him that EVEN the Lone Ranger used to wait for Tonto SOME of the time.

“I didn’t think he was going to jump me, did I?” Braddock wailed.

“You were going to bring him in for questioning, why? Because you thought he was INNOCENT?” Frank yelled.

“Hey Frank. However Braddock did it, this Ogilvy had a yellow sheet on him for aggravated assaults from here to Canarsie and track marks down his arm that would put the Pennsylvania Railroad to shame, and besides that he threatened this Gretchen Hodges in front of witnesses!” I pointed out.

“Theo come on!” Frank turned on me. “A musician steps into an alley for a break, an officer shoots him, no witnesses. Do I ask the questions or do I leave it up to the Press?” At that moment the phone rang. I reached out a hand and picked up the receiver. It was Saperstein on the line. He’d found the drunk who had been thrown out of Rumpelstiltskin's just before it blew up. The man had been shown Ogilvy’s picture but it hadn’t meant anything to him. It seemed like another dead end until Saperstein reported that the man HAD seen the bomber, and said it was a woman. Apparently she’d been wearing a red housecoat that reminded him of his wife which was why he drank. I thanked my detective and put the phone down.

“Well this Ogilvie may have been a junkie with a thousand sins, but it was a WOMAN that threw the bomb,” I informed the team.

“Well if he wasn’t guilty, why did he resist arrest?” Frank asked. Braddock looked at us.

“Possession…” Braddock suggested.

“For a JOINT?” I asked incredulous. During our search we'd found a single joint in Ogilvy's shirt pocket. “Hey Jeff I don’t know what the hell went on down there, but I gotta go along with the captain. It’s going to be a tough one to sell to Internal Affairs!”

“It’s going to be even harder to sell it to the media,” Frank added and ordered me to take Braddock off the case and assign him to a desk job before walking over to the coffee machine. Braddock started to argue. 

“I’ve been closer to this investigation than ANYBODY, I should stay on it!” I got up off the desk and stood next to him. I told him he had to understand what the captain was trying to do. Not only understand, but appreciate it, because if he didn’t it wouldn’t take much to get him transferred or even 'canned'.

I walked across the room to where Frank was pouring himself some coffee, 

“Hey Theo, is the shooting bothering him THAT much?” he asked.

“That and the heat… and the dead son… and a wife that can’t forget…” I replied.

The phone rang; Rizzo picked it up. It was Central to say they'd got something on Braddock’s car. 

****

Later that evening I was eating dinner with Crocker, something we occasionally did after a long day. I looked up and spotted Stavros walking toward us.

“Oh yeah, the moon’s coming over the mountain," I remarked. He came over to our table carrying a file. Crocker moved up to make room and Stavros sat himself down. He looked at our young colleague, 

“Like the manual says ‘boy’, persistence and perseverance always pays off,” he teased. If anyone else had referred to Crocker as ‘boy’ I hate to think what he would have said back to them - after they'd picked themselves up from the floor. But he and Stavros had always got on well, which is why I often paired them up on assignments.

“Is that what the manual says,” my detective teased back. 

“Yeah that’s right!” Stavros replied. Crocker smiled to himself and took a sip of his wine. “Gretchen Hodges: I knew I’d heard that name before, and I found it in the files. Five months ago: a hold-up. A 'hack' got mugged and robbed, my partner and I took the call and Gretchen Hodges was one of the witnesses,” Stavros began

“So?” I asked.

“So my partner was Braddock. He took her statement and then he drove her home, so how come he forgot he knew her?” How indeed I thought. Horrible thoughts were starting to swirl round and round in my mind. 

“Well like the manual says… thank you Stavros,” I remarked.

“You think Braddock 'sat' on it?” he asked.

“The night security guard’s description of Miss Hodges’ gentleman friend, it fits Braddock to a tee. You know; tall and dark and like that.” I looked across the table at Crocker. 

“He took off from that stakeout of yours before relief came didn’t he?” I remarked.

“There was no action, I said OK,” my detective replied.

“What was the rush?” I asked.

“He said he was going to pick up Molly,” he replied.

“Rumplestiltskin’s is on the other side of town, and in the opposite direction from his apartment. So how come he went THAT way on his way home? Look Crocker, I want you to pull Braddock’s picture and show it to that night security guard.” I got up from the table.

“Hey lieutenant…!” Crocker began, incredulous.

“Lieutenant what? You don’t like checking on our own MEN?” I knew he didn’t, none of us did, and it wasn’t the first time I’d had to ask him to do it either.

“I’ve stood back-to-back with Braddock in alleys when freaks were firing at us!” Crocker replied angrily.

“AND I'M HIS DEAD KID'S GODFATHER!” I yelled back. “What does loyalty mean; sweeping it under the RUG?!” I saw the look of defeat on Crocker’s face and my temper subsided. “OK…” I said quietly and then walked away.

****

I was feeling edgy as I walked into the squad room the following morning. I really hoped my suspicions about Jeff Braddock were wrong. The room was eerily quiet. Rizzo, who was standing at a file cabinet putting a folder away reported that as yet there had been no word from Crocker. Then the telephone rang. I picked it up. It was my detective. We spoke for a few seconds then I let out a sigh and rested the receiver against my chest.

“It’s Crocker Frank. He’s just ID’d Braddock.” Frank who'd been head first in the fridge slammed the door shut. Rizzo looked across at me, an expression of shock on his face.

“No ifs, buts or maybes?” Frank asked from across the room. I put the phone back to my ear.

“Look Crocker, how positive?” I asked.

“He’s been a 'star boarder' the last four or five months,” my detective replied. He sounded really down-hearted, I knew how he felt. 

“OK meet me at his place.” I put the phone down and grabbed my hat and coat.

“Rizzo, where’s Braddock?” I asked.

“Traffic called; they’ve just found his car,” he replied.

“Want me to ride along?” Frank offered. I politely refused; Braddock was MY problem.

“Thanks Frank.” I replied quietly and then walked out of the room.

****

I pulled up outside Braddock’s building. There was no sign of Crocker. I went up to the apartment and knocked on the door. Molly opened it and greeted me with a beaming smile. She looked pretty much how I remembered; hair neatly done, some make up on, a nice dress…

“Hello Theo!” She walked ahead of me and into the living room. “What a nice SURPRISE!” I walked through the door and followed her “Look,” she said turning round and showing me a puppy. She also had Jeff’s gun in her hand. I snatched it from her. She looked strangely at me; I could see she wasn’t firing on all cylinders, in fact I didn’t think she was firing on ANY cylinders, and it scared me.

“Oh he’s cute Molly!” I complemented her, and then asked where Jeff was.

“Oh, we’re going out tonight.” She answered as she brushed a strand of hair off her face.

“That’s nice.” I remarked.

“Theo?” she asked, “can things ever be the way they used to be?” She twirled her hair in her fingers like a small child. “Remember when Jeff made detective?” I touched her face, “and you said you hoped all our tomorrows would be as bright as that day?” I gently smiled at her and told her I remembered.

Hearing a noise behind me I turned round and spotted water coming from under the bathroom door. I walked back through kitchen to the bathroom. At that moment Crocker arrived. I was pleased to see he’d brought some back-up. I opened the bathroom door and looked inside then I looked back at Crocker. Molly was still standing in the living room rocking the puppy in her arms like it was a baby. I walked back to her. Crocker looked down and saw the gun in my hand and headed to the bathroom.

“Wanna take a ride Molly?” I flirted.

“What about Jeff?” She flirted back.

“Oh, HE'LL be along.” I replied. I put an arm round her and walked her and the puppy to the door.

“Why thank you Theo!” She replied, giving me an eerie smile. A crash of thunder was heard overhead. “I guess the heatwave’s over.” She remarked. I kissed her on the forehead and handed her over to the uniformed officer who led her away.

“Yeah I guess it is.” I replied as another rumble of thunder echoed overhead. I turned and picked up the telephone and dialled, “Yeah I want to report a homicide; Jeff Braddock.” I looked over at Crocker who was leaning against the bathroom door, his hand seemingly glued to the door handle. I’d never seen him look so sick. I ended my call and walked over to him. I was about to say something but at that point Frank and Stavros arrived along with the Medical Examiner and Sergeant Prince from Forensics. I ordered our rotund colleague to take Crocker outside while I spoke to them. 

****

Present day

Jeff Braddock had been buried quietly a week after he'd been killed. The Medical Examiner and Forensics had reported that he’d died from a single gunshot to the back of the head, fired from his own gun: Molly’s fingerprints had been all over it. She had been declared too ill to stand trial, and would spend the rest of her days at the Manhattan Psychiatric Center on Wards Island. I looked back at her as she smiled and sang to the puppy in her lap. She was at peace now.


End file.
